


Dealings with Winterhold

by DeeNomilk



Series: Tashok the Dragonborn [24]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, Fantasy Racism, Silver Hand, Stormcloaks, Winterhold, flashback episode, i mean did you guys even hear some of the Jarl's dialogue? yikes, orc issues, werevolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 04:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeeNomilk/pseuds/DeeNomilk
Summary: A few snippets of Tashok's interactions with the City of Winterhold, starting before she joins the College and after the disaster with the Eye of Magnus.





	Dealings with Winterhold

**Author's Note:**

> So I had to completely restart my gameplay with Tash due to mod issues (had to deleted them all and reinstall the ones I wanted to keep). As I was replaying it more or less exactly like before (to the best of my knowledge. luckily I had taken notes of my timeline for this series), I realized I hadn't included some of the smaller details and moments prior. Such as Tashok's dealings with the city of Winterhold.  
And the fact she's its Thane.
> 
> It starts off right after her first attempt at joining the College, so a few days before Risks. The second part is after Risks during her first week at the College and before Books and Frowns. The final bit is from the day after Ancano and the Thalmor left from the College.

Being turned away from the College, however nicely, stings. Tashok curses her somewhat low magicka reserves. She’d never needed to cast anything big before, aside perhaps from her bow.

But that came so easily… Yet as soon as she’d been asked to cast the Fear spell, nothing. Not even the slightest bit of magic had come out.

Tashok had half a mind to run from Winterhold and never show her face here again. The other half told her to take the Altmer woman’s advice and just keep on practicing, after getting a few drinks.

There has to be a tavern in here, right? Tashok is pretty certain she saw one coming in.

“I want a drink…” she grumbles.

“Well, why don’t we head on to the inn?” Lucien suggests, giving her a weak smile. “We could also stay there for the night while we’re at it.”

“Sounds good to me.” Tashok sighs.

There aren’t many people within the inn, which is fine by her. Lucien buys himself a meal and settles near the fire, book in hand. Tashok ends up buying a horker loaf and some cheese, taking a seat at one of the table.

A man stumbles by, almost slamming into the table and knocking a few goblets over.

“Why the long face?” he slurs.

“Just a long day.” she mumbles into her cup.

“All the days are long here. Nothin’ to do ‘ere but drink till you forget you got nothin’ to do.” he slumps next to her.

“What do you like? I’ll buy you a drink.” Tashok gives him a weak but friendly smile.

“Got any ale or mead?” he looks very pleased with the turn of events.

“Both. I kinda like my mead though, so would you mind the ale?”

“Hey, I ain’t gonna complain about free ale!”

He takes the bottle and takes a hearty swig.

“You’re alright.” he pats her on the back roughly. “Name’s Ranmir.”

“Tashok. I’m travelling around with Lucien.” she points to the Imperial, who is focussed deeply on his reading. “Have you been in Winterhold long?”

“My whole damn life!” Ranmir throws his hands up. “What’s even the point, honestly! Birna’s barely ever selling anything. Ain’t nobody wanna come here.”

“Birna?”

“My sister. She runs Birna’s Oddments, out during the day…”

Tashok wonders if she’d by her potions.

“I’ll make sure to pass by there tomorrow…” she says.

The rest of the night is pleasant enough, all things considered. The owners as well as the patrons are rather friendly and seem absolutely beside themselves that there are two new faces around. Tashok never minded the banality of her old routine back in Wayrest. Then again, she saw plenty of people, including the traveller who taught her how to summon her bow. She is however, quite familiar with minor problems. One of which she’s trying to smooth over at this very moment.

“Ranmir, Haran says you’ve racked up a huge debt with your tab here…” Tashok tells him after a talk with the exasperated in keepers. “You really ought to pay them soon.”

"Who are you to say what I should do?” he huffs, annoyed. “I’ll pay her back when I'm ready.”

“And when will that be? You owe them money, Ranmir. They’ve got a living to make, it’s not fair to them.”

He studies her with a sneer, before his face softens into that of shame.

"You're right…” he sighs. “What would my forefathers think if they knew I wasn't paying my debts? Tell Haran I'll bring her the gold I owe.”

“That’s the right thing to do.” she smiles at him.

In the morning, she visits Birna’s Oddments and departs with a strange claw and a possible new adventure.

* * *

“So I found what was in the crypt.” Tashok tells Birna after her awful expedition. “You were smart not to go in there.”

“What was in there?” Birna asks, intrigued.

“A draugr… But not like the normal ones. This one was, well… Terrifying.” Tashok shudders. “Almost killed me and Lucien.”

“Goodness! Well I’m glad you made it back in one piece! Especially since you’re the only one that managed to get Ranmir to pay his tab and take it easy on the bottle.”

“Oh right. That.”

Tashok had somewhat forgotten about that. The events of the past two weeks were a bit more intense than that evening at the inn. Between almost dying, realizing she cares deeply for both Lucien and Sofie, as well as discovering more about her Orc heritage, the citizens of Winterhold had been a bit unremarkable in comparison.

“So where are you going to go now?” Birna asks. “I hope you come back every once in a while. You’re good business.”

“Well, I might just stick around for a while…” Tashok smiles shyly. “I got into the College last night.”

“You did?” it was clear many questions were going through Birna’s mind. “Didn’t know you were a mage. Congrats, I suppose.”

“I’m more of an alchemist than a mage…” Tashok admits with a blush. “I know a few basic spells, like healing and whatnot, but that’s about it. Oh, and this.”

Tashok backs up and begins to concentrate energy at the palm of her hand.

“Wait not in the shop!” Birna says a second too late. She recoils, preparing for some ungodly atronach to wreak havoc inside her home.

Instead, a bow, more or less Orcish in shape but translucent and shimmering with a purple-blue haze materializes into Tashok’s palm.

“Oh… Sorry!” Tashok winces.

“That’s… I expected a creature.” Birna explains. “So, you’re an… Archer mage? What’s the one on your back for, then?”

“It’s a backup!” Tashok beams as she dismisses the spell.

“I guess that could come in handy.” Birna sounds mildly impressed.

“Oh yes. Especially with all the odd jobs I’ve been taking.”

“Odd jobs?”

“I need money.”

“Ha, don’t we all… Then again, most of us aren’t fighters like you. Try talking to the Jarl, he might have something for you. Just - don’t say you’re with the College.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see.”

Lucien trails behind her happily as she makes her way to the Jarl’s longhouse, conveniently right next to the shop. Not that anything is very far around here.

When she enters, she looks to the guard posted at the door nervously.

“Do I just… Walk up to him?” she asks him with a whisper.

“Uh… Yeah.” the guard seems perplexed by her uncertainty.

“Okay thank you…” she approaches the man seated across the room. “Um, hello, uh, sir…”

"What's your business here in Winterhold?” he asks her flatly.

“ Well, at first I was just passing through but…” she starts, but he cuts her off.

”Stay clear of that College, if you know what's good for you. Nothing but foul deeds behind those walls.”

Ah, that’s what Birna meant.

“What’s wrong with the College?” she winces.

"Look around you. Winterhold is in this state because of those damned mages. They sit up there in their tower, doing gods-know-what, and who watches over them?” he spits. “The guards don't even dare go up there unless they've no choice.”

“Right… So, em…” Tashok glances to the side nervously. “Birna suggested I come see you. She mentioned you might have work for me?”

“Aye. Winterhold has lost much of its history, and with that much of its power. I aim to change that. I've heard rumors of the resting place of the Helm of Winterhold, the very same helm that Jarl Hanse wore in the First Era. Hanse was in line to be High King of Skyrim, you know. Having that might get the ear of the other Holds and give me some authority.”

“I could probably get the Helm for you… Do you… Know where it is?”

  
“As far as I know it’s in this place called Driftshade Refuge. Full of bandit scum. Do this, and I’ll have a sum of gold waiting for your return.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Tashok gives him a quick bow, earning a small laugh.

“You’re not from around here, are you…?” he says.

“N-no sir. I came here from High Rock. Got off the boat in Windhelm.”

“Ah! A good city, that. Well, best be on your way. Get me that Helm, and it might just get the other Jarls to listen to me. Perhaps even Ulfric will grant me the extra soldiers I’ve been asking for…”

“Well I better get goin’ then!” Tashok rushes out the door.

“What a charming fellow…” Lucien rolls his eyes. “Now, it would seem we have a helm to fetch?

Almost a full day later, Tashok pulls out the map with cold, shaking fingers. The wind forces her to reposition herself as it pushes the flaps of the corners, obstructing the view of it.

“Oh come on…” she grumbles.

“Are we close?” Lucien peeks over her shoulder as he shivers.

“Eh…” she squints, looking around for landmarks. “I think so? That must be that bit of a mountain ridge over there.”

“I do hope so.”

They stick close together, hoping to ward of the biting wind a bit more until they come upon a somewhat worn down building. Tashok notes a woman sitting by the edge of it, looking over into the distance.

“Do you think they’d just let us in?” Lucien asks.

“Maybe. It’s not like they’re draugr…” Tashok ponders. “I’ll try asking nicely.”

She approaches the woman calmly, shouting a bit to be heard over the loud wind.

“Excuse me ma’am!” she calls out. “I’m under the impression that this building has a helmet sought out by the Jarl of Winterhold. I’ve been sent to retrieve it, so if you- oh no…”

The woman doesn’t let her in. In fact, she turns around and quickly draws her greatsword, charging at Tashok.

Tashok back-pedals quickly summoning her bow and aiming just as the woman brings down her sword. Since the woman is so close, Tashok has no trouble aiming for her face. The woman drops down as the sword comes close to Tashok, which Tashok dodges.

Dodging the sword, however, distracts her from the other bandit charging at her, sword in one hand and shield in the other.

“Look out!” she hears Lucien yell out.

She turns around as Lucien sends a Hailstone spell flying from his staff, hitting the man but also sending shards her way. It staggers both herself and the man. Instead of standing up again she steadies herself on one knee and aims at the bandit.

“I’m so sorry Tashok!” Lucien runs to her side. “I hadn’t quite realized you were this close!”

“It’s alright!” Tashok brushes off some of the icicles. “I’m not exactly supposed to be in close combat…”

She brings up a small healing spell.

“See, barely any damage at all!” she reassures him. “You have a pretty good aim.”

“Yes, well, I’m glad… It wouldn’t do if I were to hit you instead.”

“It’s bound to happen from time to time…” Tashok picks up one of the swords. “Silver?! Oh… Don’t tell me it’s _those_ bandits again…”

“The ones who seem to have it out for werewolves especially?” Lucien cringes.

“They’re all over the place, I swear…” she huffs. “Let’s get the Helm…”

The place is in fact, filled with both Silver Hands as well as their many werewolf captives, dead and alive. Tashok winces at the decor, mainly the torture tools and severed heads on spikes in various states of decay.

“How do they stand the smell?” Lucien brings a gloved hand to his nose.

“I mean, have you ever smelled a bandit?” Tashok says.

“Fair point… Let’s get going, hopefully we’ll find what we need and be out of here in a pinch.”

Several dead bandits later, they come across a chest with many treasures inside, including the Helm. What catches Tashok’s attention, however, is a pair of elven gauntlets.

“Oh, pretty!” she chirps as she slips them on. “Oh, I think they’re enchanted too!”

“Do you know what enchantment?” Lucien approaches her.

“Mh… Hard to tell, I’d need an arcane enchanter to take a better look at it… But… I’ll just wear them and see if I notice anything. And look… These books seem about your size, and better than what you have right now…”

“Oh excellent! The ones I have are, well, a bit bigger than I’d like. They’ve been rubbing at my heel for some time, and I was starting to worry I’d give me a blister of sorts.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I might be able to readjust them at a forge, next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The pair is hit by an onslaught of piercing cold wind as soon as they exit, and with the small mercy of the sun being long gone, it sends shivers through their bodies.

“There were beds in there, right…?” Tashok yells over the wind.

“You want to sleep here?” Lucien yells out in disbelief.

“It’s late, do you really want to walk hours in _that_? It wouldn’t be safe at all!”

Lucien looks out into the darkness, considering the options, before nodding quickly.

“Right then… Let’s find bedrolls that don’t smell too much.”

“I’ll heard the captive werewolves outside…” Tashok says as she closes the door with a sigh. “I can’t stand seeing them in cages like that.”

“How in the world are you going to do that? Without being torn apart I mean…”

Tashok grins and summons up the Calm spell, within her hand.

“Magic. I am a mage now, right?” she says. “And a bit of force… Gotta drag them out and all.”

Her plan does work, just a bit slowly. Luckily for her she has plenty of magicka potions as well as patience. The Calmed werewolves let her push them towards the exit and out, and each time she opens the door, the previously freed creatures are already gone into the night.

“I hope you lot transform back soon and don’t maul people to death…” she mumbles as she ushers the very last werewolf out.

“All settled?” Lucien looks up from his book as she comes back.

He's already settled into a more or less clean bed, once where no one had been sleeping.

“Should be… I hope they don’t cause too much havoc…” Tashok says. “But I felt bad, you know?”

“I understand. I don’t think I could strike one down like that either.” Lucien says. “It would seem almost cruel.”

“Exactly.”

Tashok tucks herself into the other free bed.

“Let’s get to sleep. I’d rather not spend too much time in here…” she closes her eyes.

They leave at the break of dawn, the sun barely making its presence known over the mountain tops. Nonetheless, the sky is lighter than it was, and it reflects on the still dark snow. The air is still frigid and harsh as the Sea of Ghosts carries northern winds from who knows where without effort, aiding its path as it comes crashing into the pair. The sight of the College of Winterhold is a welcomed one, after almost an entire day’s worth of travelling.

“It's a bit late to drop this off…” Tashok gestures to the Helm fastened on her travelling pack. “Let's go rest. I’ll come down tomorrow morning.”

“Did you need me to come as well?” Lucien asks as they climb up the damaged bridge to the College.

“That’s alright. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the sleep more.”

“That I will.”

Pearl greets them as they enter the bedroom where Tashok has been assigned, demanding to be pet immediately. He runs around and between their legs, almost tripping them as they unload most of their items and shed their coats.

“I’ll be getting myself some tea.” Lucien sighs happily as the College’s heat hits them. “Would you like any?”

“Sure! I’ll just take whatever you take…” Tashok picks up Pearl and begins scratching his belly and cooing. “Would you like some fish, precious? You deserve it, yes you do!”

She opens up one of the frozen boxes she keeps filled with ice and snow and pulls out two salmon she filleted less than two days ago, ready to cook them up.

She wakes up the next morning early, aware that only she and Ancano were awake. She waves to him, opening her mouth to bid him a good morning, but his scowl shuts her up quickly.

Perhaps staying quiet is best at this hour…

She eats multiple slices of cheese with bread and heads out. She sees that the few guards posted are clearly asleep on their feet. She taps on the shoulder of the one nearest to the College, who’s leaning on the side of the bridge.

“Uh?” the guard starts. “Yes? Is there trouble?”

“When does your shift end? I think you might have fallen asleep.” she says.

“Ugh… Mh. Nine?”

“Good news! You’ve only got about a few minutes left!” Tashok chirps happily. “Here, why don’t you and the others get something to drink at the inn… Goodness knows you deserve it for staying up like this.”

“Oh! Thank you, miss.” the guard takes the septims she hands him and straightens up. “Stay safe.”

Tashok slips into the Jarl’s longhouse, seeing the Jarl taking his seat with a yawn.

“Good morning sir!” Tashok smiles.

“I see you’ve returned.” the Jarl frowns. “Have you found it?”

“I have!” Tashok pulls it out and holds it up. “Here it is!”

“I don’t believe it…” Korir stands and takes the Helm into his hands reverently. "Can you believe that this hold used to contend for the throne of the High King? Now perhaps others will listen…”

He stares at the Helm for a few seconds before remembering himself.

"Here, your reward as promised.” he calls over a Dunmer man, who hands her a box filled with coins. “You have Winterhold's thanks. Tell me your name, so that I may remember.”

“I’m Tashok gra-Wayrest.” she says shyly.

Her name seems to remind him that she’s not only an Orc, but a foreigner.

“Still, I thank you.” he says as respectfully as he can muster.

“It was my pleasure.” Tashok starts to bow again before catching herself. “Is there anything else you need, sir? Uh, my Jarl?”

“There is room in my court for a new Thane. It's an honorary title, mainly, but there are a few perks someone like you could make use of.” he explains. “I can only grant the title to someone known throughout my hold, and it seems that you’ve made yourself quite liked by my people…”

“A… Thane?” Tashok wracks her brain, trying to remember what little about Skyrim’s government she knows. Sounds important. “What would be my duties?”

“Nothing much. As I’ve said, it’s an honorary title, but I think it’s about time Winterhold has a Thane. Who better than someone liked by my people, someone who recovered the Helm of Winterhold for me?”

“I- It would be my honour, then.” Tashok sputters.

"Then by my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Winterhold.” Korir grins and motions to a great sword mounted on the wall. “I grant you this weapon from the armoury to serve as your badge of office. I'll also notify the guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now.”

“Oh, uh, that's not necessary. I don’t need anything special…” she tries to refuse the weapon and the privileges, but the Jarl almost shoves it into her hands.

“Nonsense.” he says. “Here, take it.”

Tashok stumbles a bit when she takes the blade to stop it from dropping to the ground. Two-handed weapons never quite suited her. Nonetheless, she smiles nervously and holds it with a better grip.

The Jarl, satisfied, returns to his throne.

As Tashok turns around to exit the longhouse, she almost bumps into a small boy exiting from one of the adjacent rooms.

“Oh, so sorry little one.” she apologizes.

The child backs up a bit, looking her up and down before pouting.

“How come you’re in Winterhold?” he accuses. “Pa says people like you are the reason no one lives here anymore…”

“Boy!” the Jarl calls out. “This is our new Thane, that means you have to show her some respect.”

“But…” the boy looks between his father and Tashok. “She’s an elf…”

“Don’t be daft, she’s an Orc.” the Jarl rolls his eyes.

“Um, sir? My Jarl?” Tashok brings the blade to rest on of of her shoulders so she can turn around properly. “Orcs are elves. The other elves might try to pretend we’re not, but we are.”

“Is that so?” the Jarl looks intrigued.

“Just look at her ears!” the young boy points to them.

“Ahem, yes. My ears…” Tashok blushes, instinctively running a hand over them. “Very observant, your child.”

The praise seems to please both the Jarl and the boy, the latter of which shrugs and walks away.

“Well, right…” the Jarl says, clearly thinking before snapping his attention back to Tashok. “I suppose _some_ of you have to be decent folks… Elf or not, the other holds have Thanes, and having you here solidifies our credibility. Now, steer clear of the College. They’re bad news.”

Tashok sends him a weak and skittish smile along with a nervous chuckle and exits the longhouse. No reason to tell him she’s a member just yet. She’d much rather gain his favour and prove to him that perhaps the College members are trustworthy.

* * *

Tashok doesn’t see much of the Jarl after that encounter, aside from a few situations where he sends out a courier, explaining that some bandits have made their presence known and that he’s mentioned her in his official correspondence with “the true King of Skyrim”. At one point he asks her to “investigate” the College of Winterhold to inquire as to whether or not the artifact they’ve excavated is safe. She reported to him that while it didn’t seem unstable or particularly dangerous, that research regarding its origins was being undertaken by the College. When he asked her what she’d thought of it during her last visit, she’d answered honestly: she didn’t trust it nor liked being around it. This had seemed to please him immensely.

Besides those few interactions, especially after building her home near Falkreath and becoming _its_ Thane, she barely saw him or his family.

The day after the Thalmor had departed with Ancano was not the next time she would have liked to see him.

She had just finished up with an impromptu meeting between all the members of the College, Orthorn and Lucien included, when she was approached by Tolfdir.

“I’m so sorry to bother you so soon, Arch-Mage…” he starts. “Well, Tashok. Are you sure you don’t want me to call you Arch-Mage?”

“Very.” Tashok nods. “I still see you as my mentor, so it’s weird enough as it is. Maybe just when we have to be all official and whatnot?”

“I’m afraid that may come sooner the you’d like…” Tolfdir sighs. “An angry Stormcloak, along with the Jarl and a few guards came up and began yelling at Urag, of all people. It seems they believe _he_ is the new Arch-Mage.”

“Seriously?” Tashok sets Pearl on the bed and jumps up. “What now…”

She exits the Hall of Attainment into the courtyard, where, indeed, Jarl Korir, a Stormcloak commander as well as three guards are facing off against Urag and Faralda in a verbal spat.

“Stop trying to play games with us!” Korir shouts. “We were told the new Arch-Mage was an Orc, and you’re the only one here who fits that description! Now tell us what in the world you were thinking, giving up the elf who murdered my people away to the damn Thalmor!”

“He’s not the Arch-Mage!” Tashok yells out, anger immediately building up as she watches the Jarl yell at Urag. “I’m the one who made the decision. Speak to me.”

The Jarl turns around and stands in shock, mouth hanging open. The guards, though masked, are most likely doing something similar. Only the Stormcloak commander, whom Tashok has never met, seems unfazed. He marches towards her, clearly ready to look down on her, though her height halts that plan. What he does do, is jab his finger at her chest harshly.

“So you’re the one who denied my guards justice?” he spits at her. “Explain yourself, green-skin!”

“First of all, don’t touch me…” Tashok pushes his hand away with a wince. His jabbing is aggravating her many bruises and sending sharp jolts of pain through her. “Second of all, I did no such thing. I didn’t trust your soldiers to be fair in their punishment, and so I accepted the compensation from the Thalmor.”

She looks to Jarl Korir, who is still in shock, but now frowning in a mix of confusion and outrage.

“My Jarl, did you not receive the letter Tolfdir wrote yesterday? I thought someone had sent it.” she tells him. “It details the amount the College has received in exchange, as well as the fact we’re more than willing to give the majority to you to help rebuild Winterhold.” She sighs, looking to the commander as sympathetically as she can. “I understand that money isn’t enough to make up for the loss of the guards who died, but I have to remind you that the College hasn’t come out unscathed either.”

The Jarl seems to find his words and approaches her.

“I don’t understand. You’re one of them?” he shouts with a betrayed look. “How long have you been hiding this from me. Was it before of after I made you my Thane?!”

Tashok looks down guiltily, ready to respond when everyone in the courtyard, safe for Inigo, Lucien, the Jarl himself and two of the guards shout out in unison.

“Thane?!” the surprised voices resonate.

“Yes, Thane…” Tashok sighs, lifting her hand placatingly before turning to the Jarl. “My Jarl, I’m really sorry this never came up in conversation. I admit, I should have told you beforehand, during our first meeting, but your vitriol scared me. After that, I thought that if I could prove to you that I’m to be trusted, you would reconsider your views once I told you… Unfortunately, this whole… Incident, happened before I could.”

The Jarl’s expression of outrage morphs into one of frustration as Tashok speaks earnestly. He closes his eyes to compose himself, running a hand across his face and sighs.

“I believe you…” he mumbles. “I’m still angry, but I believe you. As much as I hate to admit it, my people love you, and told me of how you were there to protect them.”

“We did.” Tashok says pleadingly. “Despite the Arch-Mage having just been killed, our priority was to defend Winterhold.”

“That still doesn’t excuse you giving the damn Thalmor away!” the Stormcloak captain yells out.

“Kai is right.” the Jarl says. “He hurt our people, it’s us who should have delivered justice.”

Tashok sighs, now it’s her turn to run her hand across her face.

“Look, my Jarl…” she starts. “And, I apologize in advance if what I say offends you, but: I don’t trust the Stormcloaks to be fair. I understand why you’re angry at the Thalmor… They’re awful. But I know that your… Justice, would easily turn into revenge.”

The Jarl recoils as if struck.

“Unfair?!” he narrows his eyes.

“Do you expect me to believe the Stormcloaks would be fair to an elf?” Tashok sounds pained. “You, along with many in Skyrim have made it quite clear they don’t think that elves should be here, and that they - ugh - we… Aren’t equal to you.”

“But… He’s a Thalmor!”

“Even then… I couldn’t, in good conscience, give him away to people would would take out years of oppression and anger out on him. Even after what he’s done. I know you must feel cheated out, but I couldn’t.”

The Jarl looks to her deeply, before sighing reluctantly.

“I see…” he closes his eyes. “You did what you felt was right. I can’t fault you for wanting to be honourable.”

He calls Kai over and orders him, along with the guards to return to their posts.

“Now, Thane. I trust you’ll be instrumental in helping his rebuild.” he says, looking to the other mages with distaste, but softening as he turns back to Tashok. “It would seem, for once, that Winterhold and this damned College have the same goal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Told you the one shots wouldn't all be chronological, hehe. I know myself too much for that ^_^


End file.
